Captain Horatio Horn and the Slutty Space Pirates
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A Daemon-Horn BladeChapter 1 free porn video
If there had been a nicer mid-summer, late afternoon in Swanford, then Rowan couldn't remember it. The sun was warm, and very nicely so, but there was enough of a western breeze, off of the ocean and the lake, to keep even the hot forge from being a sweltering place of misery. Off and on all day, he had been hearing sounds of laughter and play from the river, probably from the region of the Lily Lake, but for awhile yet Rowan had some last remaining duties to perform before he could think about a little bit of play time for himself.
His Master, Gorge, had built this smithy well over thirty years ago; upon a slight hill, just off of the river road, near the docks. In the summer the smithy was faced openly into the wind to help cool the workers, and more easily fan fresh air into the furnace. In the winter, a pile of carefully pre-cut boards could be mounted onto the northern exterior framework of the smithy, to block the biting, damp, and hard northern winds. It was a good smithy, and Rowan had never regretted a day of his fifteen years of service and training here.
"A comfortable smith is, by far, a more productive smith!" Gorge often commented. He was a strict taskmaster, who expected nothing but the best work from his various apprentices and journeymen, and had a sharp tongue that cut steel when any of his workers didn't exceed his expectations of them. He was also a very fair Master, who taught his students well, and tried to prepare them properly for the future day, when they would be masters of their own forges. It was the rare apprentice that didn't learn to do their tasks in the exact proper manner Gorge instructed, or at least by the second time they faced his wrath. A third identical mistake was absolutely unthinkable.
Rowan was Gorge's most senior journeyman; duly licensed as such by the Guild in Tellismere City, and now ready, at any future time of his choosing, to forge his 'master's piece' for Gorge's final certification and concurrence, to achieve Master's status. This would mean leaving Swanford, to build up a forge of his own elsewhere. That, in fact, was still quite a scary thought to Rowan, who, as of yet, hadn't quite amassed all of the silver that he would need, to buy out an existing smithy elsewhere or to construct and buy all that he would need, to set-up a new operation somewhere else.
The idea of leaving Swanford, probably for good, just hadn't set deeply into his mind despite the amount of time that he had been considering this eventual necessity. It was almost the only home that he could ever remember having, and life here was still good and sweet to his eyes and heart. He was not quite twenty-and-four, so he was still young and had time to wait and save his meager earnings awhile longer. As a journeyman smith, Rowan didn't quite receive any sort of regular salary from his master Gorge. Instead, since he had seniority over the other journeyman smith, Ignold, Gorge's nephew, Gorge offered a minimum guarantee of three shillings a month (about thirty-six bronze pence) to supervise the younger smiths. On the half and free days at the end of a week he was also free to accept any private commissions and could even delegate the younger apprentices to actually complete these orders. Anything he earned beyond the guarantee during the month was his to keep, but, frankly, such windfalls were unfortunately not common.
Being Gorge's nephew, albeit not an especially esteemed one, Ignold had the satisfaction of knowing that his own future was secure, and that some day that young lad would be the one that would inherit this smithy from his uncle. Eventually, once Rowan had completed his master's-piece, he would have to leave the village to make his fortune elsewhere. Swanford village certainly had no need for two master blacksmiths.
For the moment, Rowan decided once more with a sigh, that he wasn't at all ready to leave his home and make his fortune elsewhere in the world.
Being a village smithy, most of the work involved mundane tasks such as making horseshoes and nails, or repairing common farming equipment. Payment was, as often as not, local produce, fresh fruit or even fish from the river given in trade for service. This usually meant that they ate rather well at Gorge's table, but Rowan didn't feel the weight of good silver or even small gold being pressed into his hands nearly often enough. The Duke's men on his castle on the small nearby island in the river had their own armor and weapon smith. He didn't remotely have Gorges skill, but he still made most of the other necessities for the Duke's household anyway. Once in a great while they paid for a commission, but not often. The Duke was accounted by all to be a cheap and parsimonious bastard and his local steward never parted with good coin if it could possibly be helped otherwise.
To earn hard coin, they usually relied upon the traveling factors, merchants, and sailors of the river trade, either from the caravans bringing cargo up and down the Emerald River road from the docks of Haldyne, the nearest large town about twenty-five miles further downstream, where the river met Crystal Lake, or from the sailors of the river that took those cargos east. Haldyne was the furthest place east where cargos from the Duchy of Tellismere and other places on the Crystal Lake could travel along the Emerald River. From Haldyne up to Swanford, the river was too shallow for anything but a rare occasional flatboat pulled by horses to travel. This method was slow and awkward and only used for the heaviest bulk cargos. Instead, usually most cargos were transferred to wagons for the relatively short day-long transit between the town and the village. Once at the docks just past the Lily Lake, the river deepened enough to allow shipping to continue for several hundred miles further east, nearly to the very borders of Duchy of Everdun.
This journey upriver, against the usually slow and placid current of the deep and wide Emerald River, was well aided by the strong winds that normally blew from either the northwest or southeast, depending upon the season. Small relatively shallow bottom merchant ships cleverly rigged by sail could normally tack into these seasonal winds and make good progress to the various towns and settlements far up the river and its bigger tributaries, most months of the year. Naturally, their return trips west, heavily loaded with grain, produce, sheep skins, sides of beef, and copper and silver ingots from Everdun, were usually a simple matter of just sailing along with the currents back home to Swanford.
That the relatively small village of Swanford was the single weakest link between the trade routes east and west into the Duchy of Everdun and also south, to the northern border of the Duchy of Broadmore, was of much concern to the long line of Dukes of Tellismere. Even the current Duke, who was quite wont to cut Duchy expenses any and every place he could, had been grudgingly made to recognize the strategic importance of the village and he kept the full allotment of soldiers stationed there and at the nearby river guard towers, and he also kept a small force of guards at his small private island and castle nearby. The northern forests and mountains were always unsafe, even at the best of times, and recent scouting reports were even more pessimistic than usual. Banditry was always a popular enterprise in this remote and under-settled wilderness, and the goblin night-folk, the nihtgenga, were becoming unusually bold and active. There were even unsettling rumors of Eorfleode, the boar-men, raiding south from their wilderness settlements across the northern barrier of the Brittle Mountains.
No one would disagree that these were very unsettled times!
With another deep sigh, Rowan gently encouraged one of his more reluctant apprentices to keep banging away at the horseshoes. It had been a fairly dry summer, so far, and the coastal dirt road to and from Haldyne was hard and rocky, at the moment. Yesterday's caravan had come into town with the loss of five horseshoes and, undoubtedly, when tonight's caravan arrived, in a few hours, yet more would be needed. During the good weather of the summer, caravans travelled the road to and from Swanford almost daily. His friend, Boyle, had come over from the stables earlier in the morning to place an order for another dozen horseshoes to replenish their stock, even bringing along the two shillings to cover the twenty-four pence expense. His own boss, Cegred, the stable master and master farrier, could rarely be bothered to run his own errands ... usually due to the fact that he often had his nose stuck too deeply into a pot of beer. Cegred was also much too unreliable to trade needed goods with; for him it was strictly cash and carry.
Probably, he thought, this extra work would keep Boyle late at the stables again this evening, and not give them enough time to share a pint or a meal together at the Goblin's Head. Just as well, since he was hoping that Cedany might be available later to join him for a drink or two and maybe a bit of a pleasant moonlight stroll, perhaps even to some quiet, deserted, and comfortable spot, suitable for snuggling together on a blanket. That would be rather nice, he thought to himself with a grin.
He and Cedany didn't quite have an absolute formal understanding that they would wed sometime in the fairly near future, but nearly everyone else in the village took it as a given certainty. Several years ago the other village lads had quickly admitted defeat and had given Rowan a free hand with her. Even most of her girlfriends as well thought that the match would be a good and happy one. As a skilled craftsman, he was certain to be able to provide them with a good living anywhere they might go, and it didn't hurt in the slightest that Rowan was considered the tallest, strongest and handsomest young man in the village, and he had a quiet but pleasant personality to match. In fact, the other young women of the village had made it quite plain and stated, in no uncertain terms to her, that the moment Cedany ever rejected Rowan as her future husband, there would be a stampede of other young women determined and more than eager to make him their own.
As Cedany was undoubtedly also the top beauty of the village, the moment Rowan released any and all claims to her as well, there would undoubtedly be an equally sized rush of ready male admirers also eager to claim her attentions. Not a chance! Rowan thought with a laugh and a smile.
Still, their courtship had progressed rather slowly, and together they had not quite ever fully consummated their love for each other, although some partial remedies had been taken lately, and with more regularity. Cedany was more than willing to offer her final token of love, but there several other, quite considerable roadblocks against the happy couple publically declaring their troth together — primarily her father, Vainard the Miller.
The sullen miller, who was also the Headsman of the village, was a rather pompous ass that was wont to put on airs of insufferable superiority to everyone around him. As the town miller, he had no shortage of coins crossing into his palms (his business was strictly cash as well) and he viewed himself as the local aristocracy, especially whenever the Duke was visiting his castle. As a matter of course, he kept his nose so far up the Duke's ass, kissing it, that it was alleged he hadn't had a fresh breath of air up his nose in years. It was not yet at all certain in his mind when and whom his daughter ought to in fact marry, but he took it as a given assumption that, given his wealth and lofty station, the hand of his only daughter ought to be worth more than a callous-handed, young craftsman for a son-in-law. She was worthy of ever so much more, he believed. Perhaps a squire or even a young knight in the Duke's service from a baronial family, or other minor nobility.
Cedany's budding romance faced another and different sort of dampening spirit, in the form of the Duke's only daughter, the young Lady Ayleth. Since the ducal family came for their annual summer visits on their nearby private island, across the river from Swanford, the young girls, being of nearly identical age, naturally had begun to play and spend time together since they were children. Now that both women had grown to maturity, their friendship continued, but had transformed into more of a mistress/servant relationship, since Cedany had become the Lady Ayleth's favorite attendant during her seasonal visits. There were even some rumors that, soon, Cedany might even be given the formal rank of a lady-in-waiting and offered year around employment, back at the Duke's castle, in the great walled city of Tellismere itself. It also appeared that the Lady Ayleth was quite a jealous sort of mistress, and she made freely known of what her displeasure would be should any of her private attendants marry before she herself had selected a husband. She expected her companions to remain maidens, like herself, and frowned with great severity upon any young woman foolish enough to disobey her in any manner, either great or small.
As the Duke's only child, the Lady Ayleth had kept a tight hold on her father's affection, and she possessed more than enough resolve to block any unfortunate match offers that had been made in the name of politics alone. She felt that she was more than worthy of any Duke or Earl ... or even most Kings, but, alas, the offers from these sorts of suitors had been few and far between recently. No matter, she was more than willing to wait ... and make her attendants wait for their own future marital happiness, as well.
Together, these misfortunes blunted their love rather significantly, but still didn't quite fully stop these two young, frustrated lovers from sharing a few stolen moments together, to dream and ponder their uncertain fates.
Once the order for the horseshoes was completed and the forge banked low for the night, Rowan declared the work-day to be done, and his eager apprentices raced to tidy up the smithy and make sure that everything was clean and quite in its proper place. Master Gorge was still away down at the village factorage, negotiating to ship a barrel of nails down to the City of Apeleia, or now more often called simply Applewood, down at the southern end of Crystal Lake. Also, the Master might be already negotiating for the purchase of a large shipment of iron ore to arrive sometime after the fall rains swelled the Emerald River enough for such heavy bulk cargo, as he did regularly twice a year in both the early spring and fall. The price would undoubtedly be steep, but in turn their smithy forge was large, and the workers were skilled enough to melt and cast ingots for use by other blacksmiths and ironworkers, further west on the smaller settlements that dotted southern Crystal Lake. With profits from the resale of half of this raw iron, our smithy would have virtually free material to craft with until our next large shipment about six months later. As a result, the master enjoyed good profits and didn't begrudge any use of raw metal that would result in the training of his workers, or production of items, which could be sold locally or shipped either east or west via the factorage for a profit.
Making nails and horse shoes was boring to Rowan, and it was definitely now a fitting task for young apprentices, but it was good training for them and these products were always in demand. If there were no other orders or customers, they made nails. Already they had another half of a barrel of nails completed and, if the next week or so remained quiet at the smithy, they could possibly fill this barrel up to the top and the master could ready it for sale as well. Some lesser smithies might cast their nails from molds, and while this method was indeed much faster and cheaper to the customer it didn't produce good quality nails. Master Gorge produced nothing but the best and the nails that left his smithy could always be sold for a higher premium price and they were even shipped far away from the Duchy to other kingdoms and lands.
The housekeeping done, Rowan released his charges from their duties, and, nearly to a man, they ran happily down the road past the stables and down to the shores of Lily Lake to bathe. Cleaning off the soot of the forge was probably not their only interest while loitering about the shallow waters, amidst the sea of green floating lily pads, with their bright summer blossoms of pink, yellow, blue and white flowers. Most, if not all of the young lads would also be hoping to see and enjoy the sights of a few feminine bare breasts, and perhaps other naked parts, of the local village young ladies, here along this side of the riverbank with them, or perhaps a peek instead at the lovely ladies that attended the Lady Ayleth across the river, such as Rowan's own beloved Cedany, or several other of the prettier local girls.
The Lady had been present at her father's castle on his small river island for nearly a month now, enjoying the island's many gardens and the mild gently flowing waters here, where the Emerald River became shallow and placid, and warmed delightfully under the summer sun. Her father still remained back in the City of Tellismere, from where he normally ruled this Duchy, but he was expected to join his daughter, at their pleasant ducal island summer estate quite soon.
While there were few, if any, local nudity taboos concerning the villagers bathing in the river, a sport which both the young ladies and men of the village quite often enjoyed together, by custom (and to avoid the definite displeasure of the Duke), bathing and sunning on the shores on the Duke's island was quite forbidden to Swanford village men, and firmly enforced. This area was reserved solely for the use of his daughter and her female attendants. To ensure some bounds of propriety, it was also customary that villagers bathing in Lily Lake should not venture any further than half way towards the very nearby island, across this shallow pond, which was no deeper, at any point, than the shoulders of a tall man. While this didn't quite stop lovers from meeting in the middle of the river halfway, often under the cover of darkness, it did provide certain discouragements for 'inappropriate' intermingling of the social classes, at least during the hours of daylight, when the Lady's attendants were under watchful eyes. The separated bathing parties of men and women could, and usually did, spend a great deal of time watching each other, and preening themselves at the delicious thought that they, themselves, were also being watched.
Rowan briefly thought about joining the younger apprentices at play, but decided that, due to the lateness of the hour, he would instead wait in the smithy for his friend Boyle to be released from his labors as well, so that the two of them could go together down to the Goblin's Head to have a bit of supper and enjoy a pint of two of Ypreth's ordinary, which was still a fairly exceptional beer, in Rowan's, rather limited, experience and opinion.
Since it was Fivthday, or 'fifth-day', the normal end of the full days of work for the week, it was the young lads' custom to share a meal out together, usually at the local inn. While Master Gorge did provide full meals (usually quite decent ones) and board for his apprentices and journeymen, it was always nice to have a bit of a change. Tomorrow, Mondæ, or Moon-Day, would be the usual only half a day of labor, so he would have plenty of time, later in the afternoon, to enjoy a swim and maybe even some sunbathing on a quiet secluded spot along the river, perhaps even with Cedany! If not, then certainly on the following day, Freo, a 'free' day that ended the week, they should be allowed to find some quality time alone together.
It didn't take him long to make certain that every tool was locked safely away in the forge strong-chest, double-check that his charges hadn't neglected any aspect of their cleaning, and verify that indeed all was in order. After a second, more complete inspection, Rowan gave up and sat himself down on an outside tree stump, to wait for his tardy friend. Sunset came and passed and it was soon quite dark before his errant friend, Boyle, lumbered across the dirt road from the stables and tardily greeted his friend.
"Hullo, Ro! Wus'up?" The stout lad enquired and smiled at his friend. The lads had been the closest of friends since Rowan arrived in Swanford about fifteen years, with never a cross word said between them. Boyle looked his friend over and sadly shook his head. "And go change your jerkin and give your arms another wash ... you've still got soot all over you! I swear you have absolutely no fashion sense!" He added.
"You should talk!" Rowan laughed as he stripped to his waist to give himself another scrub to clean away the dirt of the forge. "You're the one that smells of horse shit from being in the stables all day!"
"True, but it's a noble smell. I heard a story once that the old Duke, the miser's father, intenti0nally built his working study over the castle stables in Tellismere, and then he even drilled holes into the floor so that the aroma of horse shit could better penetrate. Supposedly he thought that the smell of horse manure quickened his thoughts and made him cleverer!"
"Well, it would certainly keep his advisors from bothering him in there, or at least for long!" Rowan donned a mostly clean shirt and gave his face and hair a quick look in a bit of broken mirror fastened next to the washbasin.
He was a tall lad, the tallest young man in the village and only Boyle had broader and beefier shoulders. He wore his long red hair tied with a rawhide thong into a ponytail that hung just below his shoulders. He tried letting it run free and loose sometimes but it tended to be unruly and curl up in random odd places, not to mention it always blocked his face when he worked and then it would get singed by the heat of the forge. His face was fairly thin but it had both a good nose and a strong well-formed chin that still defied his every effort to grow a reasonable beard. Too many patches and holes in its growth for his taste, so he kept it shaved it clean a couple days a week whenever it began to itch. Cedany preferred his features smooth as well, so his dreams of someday having a proper beard would remain just that for the foreseeable future. His stomach was lean and marbled with solid muscle and if he had an ounce of fat in his body it was perhaps only in his thighs, which were also fairly muscled from his habit of regular swimming. He told himself often that he really need do some running as well for additional exercise but he rarely found the mood or time to do this. Despite the freckles on his arms and a multitude of small scars from his years of working with hot iron, he was accounted to be a handsome young man and a prize catch for any of the young village women.
Elle
- 27.03.2020
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